Airly crooks the Tree that good Lammock should be.
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Airly Beacon
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Oh, the pleasant sight to see
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,
While my love climbed up to me!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Oh, the happy hours we lay
Deep in fern on Airly Beacon,
Courting through the summer's day!
Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
Oh, the weary haunt for me,
All alone on Airly Beacon,
With his baby on my knee!
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Bonnie House O' Airly
It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
When the corn grew green and yellow,
That there fell out a great dispute
Between Argyle and Airly.
The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle
To come in the morning early,
An' lead in his men, by the back O' Dunkeld,
To plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
The lady look'd o'er her window sae hie,
And O but she looked weary!
And there she espied the great Argyle
Come to plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
'Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,' he says,
'Come down and kiss me fairly,
Or before the morning clear daylight,
I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly.'
'I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
I wadna kiss thee fairly,
I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane Airly.'
He has ta'en her by the middle sae sma',
Says, 'Lady, where is your drury?'
'It's up and down by the bonnie burn side,
Amang the planting of Airly.'
They sought it up, they sought it down,
They sought it late and early,
And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,
That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly,
He has ta'en her by the left shoulder,
And O but she grat sairly,
And led her down to yon green bank,
Till he plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
'O it's I hae seven braw sons,' she says,
'And the youngest ne'er saw his daddie,
And altho' I had as mony mae,
I wad gie them a' to Charlie.
'But gin my good lord had been at hame,
As this night he is wi' Charlie,
There durst na a Campbell in a' the west
Hae plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
poem by Andrew Lang
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Soon crooks the tree That good gambrel would be.
Knowing Of A Tree
It is a good thing indeed
When someone plants a seed
And to watch and help it grow
So someday, it to be a tree.
It is a good thing in truth
When a tree brings forth its fruit
Or to shade someone's head
Or its branch be a robins nest.
It is good when a tree is used
By nature, or by me or you
To protect or shelter lives
For a tree; it never dies.
A tree is someone's home
A tree is someone's good book
A tree is never alone,
For to know a tree, all you do; is look.
It is good to plant a tree
It is good to plant a seed
For someday it will be grown
And a tree, will be known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Put simply, I want to treat my readers as partners and not crooks. There is no future in calling your most active promoters crooks.
quote by Cory Doctorow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Their Crooks
Members to parliament
Are elected by caste and creed.
Voters know some are crooks.
Yet they chose; they’ll be their crooks.
(02.07.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Tale Of The Airly Days
Oh! tell me a tale of the airly days--
Of the times as they ust to be;
'Piller of Fi-er' and 'Shakespeare's Plays'
Is a' most too deep fer me!
I want plane facts, and I want plane words,
Of the good old-fashioned ways,
When speech run free as the songs of birds
'Way back in the airly days.
Tell me a tale of the timber-lands--
Of the old-time pioneers;
Somepin' a pore man understands
With his feelins's well as ears.
Tell of the old log house,--about
The loft, and the puncheon flore--
The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out,
And the latch-string thrugh the door.
Tell of the things jest as they was--
They don't need no excuse!--
Don't tech 'em up like the poets does,
Tel theyr all too fine fer use!--
Say they was 'leven in the fambily--
Two beds, and the chist, below,
And the trundle-beds that each helt three,
And the clock and the old bureau.
Then blow the horn at the old back-door
Tel the echoes all halloo,
And the childern gethers home onc't more,
Jest as they ust to do:
Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes,
With Tomps and Elias, too,
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums
And the old Red White and Blue!
Blow and blow tel the sound draps low
As the moan of the whipperwill,
And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo,
All sleepin' at Bethel Hill:
Blow and call tel the faces all
Shine out in the back-log's blaze,
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall
As they did in the airly days.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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There's a difference between criminals and crooks. Crooks steal. Criminals blow some guy's brains out. I'm a crook.
quote by Ronald Biggs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hoodoo
Owned a pair o' skates onc't.--Traded
Fer 'em,--stropped 'em on and waded
Up and down the crick, a-waitin'
Tel she'd freeze up fit fer skatin'.
Mildest winter I remember--
More like Spring- than Winter-weather!--
Did n't _frost_ tel bout December-
Git up airly ketch a' feather
Of it, mayby, 'crost the winder--
Sunshine swinge it like a cinder!
Well--I _waited_--and _kep_' waitin'!
Couldn't see my money's w'oth in
Them-air skates and was no skatin',
Ner no hint o' ice ner nothin'!
So, one day--along in airly
Spring--I swopped 'em off--and barely
Closed the dicker, 'fore the weather
Natchurly jes slipped the ratchet,
And crick--tail-race--all together,
Froze so tight cat couldn't scratch it!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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When I was only three I planted a tree
When I was three I planted a tree. This was my tree and together we would always be. I gave it love and it to me, and so we were happy, me and my tree.
Then one day they came to see me and my tree. Men with no faces, and they said to me, you must go, and leave this tree.
Buy why I ask. For we've done no harm. Me and my tree, please let us be.
So they left us alone, me and my tree, but only for a while but I could not see.
Then one day they came and took me away. My tree was needed to save the day. Goods it will make it makes perfect sense. So we will take this tree, for wood we need. And so it was done, they took my tree.
And now I look around, my tree I no longer see. Taken from, this tree I planted when I was three.
poem by Brad Milner
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What Races, Horse Races?
I see the different races,
But I don't really care,
The color of the skin,
Not really my affair.
I see the different races,
And never do I stare,
I hate the mental braces,
That we all know are there,
For me there are two races,
The Good and then the Bad,
There are good Human Beings,
Then others that abuse,
The Bad harm all our Races,
And don't do us much good.
We're all brothers and sisters,
It's written in the books,
It's better to be noble,
Than just a bunch of crooks.
poem by Sandra Feldman
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I'm Just An Ordinary Tree
My existence
start from a little piece of seed...
First, I was bury on the ground...
Then, I showed my two cute leaves up in to world...
But it didn't end just like that...
I grow... more and more...
With love, hope and care,
I became a tree...
Tree with many leaves,
if you need some shady circumstance...
Tree with a strong wood,
if you need me to make a good wardrobe...
Tree with a tight root,
if you want to make a solid foundation...
Tree with a sincerely pray,
if you need a support...
Tree with an everlasting presence,
if you need a friend beside you forever...
Tree with a dry branch,
if you want to share your tears...
Tree with a pure dew,
if you feel thirsty...
Tree with a warm wind,
if you get cold and alone...
Tree with a full color's flowers,
if you feel your life so black and white...
Tree with many hopes,
if you lost your dreams away...
But... after all,
I'm just an ordinary Tree...
By: Tree
22 May 2007,7: 02 PM
Hardworkers Not Crooks
Hardworkers,
Not crooks.
Were those I knew,
Who raise early my beliefs.
Maybe perhaps a few of them were thieves.
But none showed me,
An abandonment of greed was fed publicly.
Whatever it took,
To accomplish any deed...
The satisfaction was in the doing.
And not at the expense,
Instilled in my integrity.
Materialism and other 'isms'
Of all kinds.
Was never on my agenda.
Or made to prioritize in my mind.
I needed to keep my identity defined.
And hardworkers not crooks,
Made sure that discovery was not hard for me to find!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Reality Is...
the good ones die young,
the swindlers thrive and the crooks
progress
the hero unlike in the movies
dies earlier
and the antagonists
party.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From The Same Tree
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit....
From the same tree
the good fruit goes to the market
the bad fruit...to the soil.
From the same tree
is the reason for the lonely farmer
to wake up each morning
to see how the fruits grow well...
and is the reason for the lonely farmer
for not winning the heart of his beloved
who prefer the city life
From the same tree
there is the good fruit
there is the bad fruit.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Happy Tree
Winter cold breeze,
Tree freezy.
The hand of Tree shakes as the wind blew.
So cold tree turn icy blue,
under blue moon night.
Lucky me,
Have a home to keep me dream.
Sweet as white cream,
So sad Tree.
I want Tree to be as happy as me,
Take my puffy blanket,
Roll Treedy like a sushi roll.
Good dream, creamy Tree.
My happy Tree.
poem by Dong123321 4931
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The Strange Tree
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
And this strange tree could not agree,
That if this tree could ever see,
A stranger tree it sure would be.
There’s a strange tree which topples me,
For this strange tree was tall, you see,
And then this tree would use its knee,
To break in three, the clouds who flee.
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
The northern tree, its branches free,
The southern tree, no limb to see,
For this strange tree, was strange, you see?
There’s a strange tree which I can see,
And this strange tree (against my plea)
Was sent to sea, its roots now free,
And now this tree… A ship is he.
End.
Tree please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
Please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
I hope you smile at me
Oh tree, oh tree
I will try to save you
Oh tree, oh tree
Become my friend because I am all alone here
poem by Lovely Girl
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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